'Arthur Henrik': The Demon Behind the Fleshen Membrane
Oct 11, 2014 23:12:12 GMT -5
Post by Thorlah on Oct 11, 2014 23:12:12 GMT -5
Hostilius...I remember you to this very day.
We stood around you, and were guided through the maw.
There, the beast awaited us.
A beast, I continue to think of, and believe that it is possible for its tainted influence to return, or linger to this day and age.
Just as we have.
But perhaps, I should elaborate to you, oh so curious reader, on who I am, who I was, and who I will be.
For starters, my name is the result of two of the more recent beings I consumed, a knight named Arthur, and a craftsman by the name of Ulfgaar Henrik. Both of these men lived during the Sixth Age, and both were my last full-fledged meals.
Such a paltry selection, compared to the Infernals of old.
Ah yes, our very insistent masters, dragging us here and there for meaningless sport. They envied our powers, and were heavily cautious with what we could and could not eat, or even gain a taste for.
Shame they neglected to fully anticipate Lord Hostilius.
Glory days, long since gone. How I miss them, in my weaker moments.
Unlike the Avernics, I was not one to ignore our obligation to the Empty Lord. As cunning and strong as he was, he had tricked Lord Hostilius with such ease, it was truly breath taking. Those of us most prominent amongst his number were present for the event, and swore an oath of loyalty then and there.
But of course, the ones I stand with in the present era are quite a sight to behold.
The leader, Neil, reminds me of many that have stood before me, and before this faction. If he figures out how to unleash his fullest potential, he will be worth remembering, for sure.
Similarly, his oldest friend, the not as dead as most assumed Pontifex Maximus, has been saved, by the timely assistance of his fellow priests and cardinals. Seeing the stark difference between the man before the incident and the one currently in charge is quite intriguing, and makes many humans, gnomes and elves make idle gossip about it not being him.
If only they could see his energy, or even the face behind the hood...then they'd not only have proof, but would dearly desire the bliss of ignorance once more.
My formerly fellow field commander, Marston Briggs, reminds me of Abraxas Carnifex, father of the famed Ripper Demons, and one of my oldest acquaintances. Both hold a reverence for the act of execution, and do so with precision, and make what is usually thought of as a macabre, and disgusting event, into an art form, one Lord Hostilius himself would approve of.
Intriguingly though, the one I most associate with is a man that strikes me as a rare breed, named Gram Collinson.
Especially in his deep-rooted similarities to Sliske, a beguiling Mahjarrat I had come to have a mutual respect with, and came to appreciate his political espousing he was so often want to do.
I do quite enjoy his differences as well, for it reinvigorates familiar words and philosophies with new purpose, new methodologies, and new strength.
Even in this summary of my most basic points of interest, and of my opinions of my peers, I feel an emptiness. My stomach growls with a void filled by nothing but air, and the muscles ache in agony, unprotected from the acid meant to help digestion.
I have not eaten a full meal since the Third Age, and I have not had a meal of sustenance since the Sixth.
Do I abstain out of pride? Out of respect to those I faced before? Do I really think those in this era are beneath my standards of worthy meals?
Ages of asking myself that question, and still the answer eludes me.
All that I know is that I will eat once more in this age...and I will return home to Infernus once I do.
I've already spoken with Alathazdrar and another that wishes to remain unnoted here, and they in turn have groups that wish to do the same. Our preparations are set, and all we need is my power to fill the gap. One way portal home.
It will be an immense pleasure to see it once more.
Or...to know if it is still even out there go home to.
We stood around you, and were guided through the maw.
There, the beast awaited us.
A beast, I continue to think of, and believe that it is possible for its tainted influence to return, or linger to this day and age.
Just as we have.
But perhaps, I should elaborate to you, oh so curious reader, on who I am, who I was, and who I will be.
For starters, my name is the result of two of the more recent beings I consumed, a knight named Arthur, and a craftsman by the name of Ulfgaar Henrik. Both of these men lived during the Sixth Age, and both were my last full-fledged meals.
Such a paltry selection, compared to the Infernals of old.
Ah yes, our very insistent masters, dragging us here and there for meaningless sport. They envied our powers, and were heavily cautious with what we could and could not eat, or even gain a taste for.
Shame they neglected to fully anticipate Lord Hostilius.
Glory days, long since gone. How I miss them, in my weaker moments.
Unlike the Avernics, I was not one to ignore our obligation to the Empty Lord. As cunning and strong as he was, he had tricked Lord Hostilius with such ease, it was truly breath taking. Those of us most prominent amongst his number were present for the event, and swore an oath of loyalty then and there.
But of course, the ones I stand with in the present era are quite a sight to behold.
The leader, Neil, reminds me of many that have stood before me, and before this faction. If he figures out how to unleash his fullest potential, he will be worth remembering, for sure.
Similarly, his oldest friend, the not as dead as most assumed Pontifex Maximus, has been saved, by the timely assistance of his fellow priests and cardinals. Seeing the stark difference between the man before the incident and the one currently in charge is quite intriguing, and makes many humans, gnomes and elves make idle gossip about it not being him.
If only they could see his energy, or even the face behind the hood...then they'd not only have proof, but would dearly desire the bliss of ignorance once more.
My formerly fellow field commander, Marston Briggs, reminds me of Abraxas Carnifex, father of the famed Ripper Demons, and one of my oldest acquaintances. Both hold a reverence for the act of execution, and do so with precision, and make what is usually thought of as a macabre, and disgusting event, into an art form, one Lord Hostilius himself would approve of.
Intriguingly though, the one I most associate with is a man that strikes me as a rare breed, named Gram Collinson.
Especially in his deep-rooted similarities to Sliske, a beguiling Mahjarrat I had come to have a mutual respect with, and came to appreciate his political espousing he was so often want to do.
I do quite enjoy his differences as well, for it reinvigorates familiar words and philosophies with new purpose, new methodologies, and new strength.
Even in this summary of my most basic points of interest, and of my opinions of my peers, I feel an emptiness. My stomach growls with a void filled by nothing but air, and the muscles ache in agony, unprotected from the acid meant to help digestion.
I have not eaten a full meal since the Third Age, and I have not had a meal of sustenance since the Sixth.
Do I abstain out of pride? Out of respect to those I faced before? Do I really think those in this era are beneath my standards of worthy meals?
Ages of asking myself that question, and still the answer eludes me.
All that I know is that I will eat once more in this age...and I will return home to Infernus once I do.
I've already spoken with Alathazdrar and another that wishes to remain unnoted here, and they in turn have groups that wish to do the same. Our preparations are set, and all we need is my power to fill the gap. One way portal home.
It will be an immense pleasure to see it once more.
Or...to know if it is still even out there go home to.
